Novel - Half Moon Investigations (3 page)

“Half Moon was right,” she crowed. “You did take it, you little Sharkey thief. Now I am legally entitled to beat you the length of the school yard.”

“That probably won’t hold up in court,” I said, from the ring of daisies.

Bella was not the only person annoyed with Herod. Red was having trouble containing himself.

“You promised me,” he said, fists clenched in exasperation. “No more stealing in school. Don’t you know what could happen to the family?”

“I didn’t take it,” protested Herod. “The box is mine, but I didn’t put the organizer in it. This is a setup.”

No one was convinced by this. Legend had it that Herod’s first words were
I’ve been framed.

I picked myself up from the ring, then leaned over, shaking flowers from my hair.

“In Herod’s defense, this is far from conclusive,” I said to my shoes. “There are missing links in the chain of evidence.”

An impressed silence followed this technicalsounding statement; or so I thought. I looked up to find that it was more of a deserted silence. Everyone who had followed me to the Millennium Garden was now hightailing it back to the basketball courts. They moved with a speed and silence that would have shamed a special forces squad. Even Red Sharkey was moving quickly, although he managed to do it in a nonchalant way.

There was only one person in this school that could make Red Sharkey run anywhere. That person must be nearby, so I started to get a move on, too.

“Fletcher Moon. I don’t believe it.”

It was Principal Quinn. As usual she was flanked by Larry and Adam. I know dogs aren’t supposed to smile, but I swear I could see them grinning behind their muzzles.

“Please tell me what you think you are doing.”

Apparently, telling a teacher what you think you are doing makes you think about what you have done.

“I think I am going straight down to the office,” I answered, hoping a bit of humor would lighten the tension.

Mrs. Quinn chuckled, and for a second I was hopeful; then her laughter dried up like a water hole in the Sahara.

“Correct,” she snapped. “When I get back from line-up inspection, you had better be there waiting.”

It seemed to me that Larry and Adam sniggered then, or perhaps they growled. I didn’t know which was worse. Mrs. Quinn led them off to make sure that the class lines were as straight as rulers.

I trudged back through the school field toward the main building. The euphoria I had felt earlier drained down through the soles of my feet. Yes, I had solved the case, but I had broken Bernstein’s first rule:
Never become a piece of the puzzle
. A detective should not be afraid of the outcome of a case, as this fear will affect his work. The victim, witness, and perpetrator had all known where to find me if my findings went against them. The Sharkeys had tried to use me, but it had backfired on them, and now Herod was a marked man. I was a marked man too, or I would be. Several marks probably, if Red had his way.

The school “bell” rang. It was a computer bell that used a sample of Mrs. Quinn’s own voice. “Line up, students,” the bell said. “Don’t make me ask again.” Of course it did ask again. Over and over again. Jimín Grady had been expelled recently for sneaking into the office and replacing Mrs. Quinn’s voice sample with his own. His message had not been quite so polite.

I was just picking up my bag, when Red Sharkey appeared from inside the porch shadows. He emerged from the darkness one limb at a time, like a cartoon villain.

“You think you’re very smart, don’t you, Half Moon?” he said, his eyes blazing with unpredictable anger.

“My name is Fletcher,” I said, feeling pretty proud of myself for not allowing my shaking knees to fold underneath me.

“Well,
Fletcher
, I better not hear any more about this organizer thing. I have enough trouble without a toy detective stirring things up.”

There was something new in Red’s voice as he said this. The anger was still in there, but there was desperation, too. And I got the feeling that the anger was not all directed at me.

“As far as I’m concerned it’s a closed case, but I’d advise your brother to steer clear of Bella for a while.”

Red nodded, accepting the advice, then remembered that he was supposed to be angry at me. He leaned in close, brushing against me.

“Roddy will steer clear of Bella, and you steer clear of us. As of now, Half Moon, you are retired. Got it?”

I stared him down. I wasn’t retiring for him or anyone else. I thought I was being really brave holding his gaze like that, but five minutes later I realized that this was just what Red Sharkey wanted. It gave him the opportunity to steal my badge.

I SAT ON ONE OF THE baby seats outside Mrs. Quinn’s door waiting for the red light to turn green. Red meant Do not disturb; green meant Knock. This was a code that even the kindergartners could follow.

I felt sick to my stomach. My badge was gone. Just like that, I was back to being a normal kid. Of course, I knew in theory that the badge was just a hunk of metal, and that I was just as much a detective without it. But I had studied for two years to win that badge, and for the past six months it had made me feel special, extraordinary. Without it, I was just another kid who thought he was Sherlock Holmes.

I had to get my badge back, that’s all there was to it. I knew where it was, or rather I knew who knew where it was, but I had zero evidence and even less chance of a confession. But where there was a theft, there was evidence. I would find that evidence and present it to Red. Then he could either give me back my shield, or I would take my evidence to the police.

Someone sat beside me. I was amazed to find it was April Devereux. She grinned, and I could see a lump of neon-blue chewing gum behind her perfect teeth.

“Hi, April. Are you in trouble, too?”

April shook her head, setting rows of pink beads in her hair rattling like snakes. “Hardly. I don’t do trouble. Just delivering a
message
for Fitz.” April pronounced
message
the French way.

Mr. Fitzgerald was our teacher. He thought allowing us to call him
Fitz
would make him cool and trendy. He had about as much chance of being cool as I had of winning Olympic gold in the high jump.

“I just stopped to ask how much you charge?”

“Charge?”

April pulled a ten-euro note from her pocket.

“For detective work. Like finding the organizer.”

“I suppose ten would be fair for today. I did put myself at considerable risk.”

April laughed. “Are you serious, Half Moon? I did-n’t hire you for that. You were soooo lucky with that cookie tin, by the way. A pedicure is thirty, so you’d be, like, a third that important. So I’ll give you this ten for a retainer. If you take it, then you work for me.”

I didn’t ignore the note, but I didn’t grab it either. I wasn’t really used to dealing with girls, unless I was questioning them about missing pencil cases or asking some of the rougher ones to give me back my lunch box.

“A retainer? To investigate what?”

April stood, flicking her hair over one shoulder. With her pink puff jacket on, she looked like a marshmallow.

“It’s more Sharkey trouble, I’m afraid. Not just the little stinky one. The whole family.”

I patted the pocket where my badge used to be. Red Sharkey was involved. I had already decided to investigate the Sharkeys, this could be a way to make a few euros while I was about it. Do a bit of snooping around for April, and dig up some dirt on Red. Who knows, I may even catch him red-handed with my badge. A couple of surveillance photos later, and the long arm of the law would be getting a lot shorter for Red.

“Okay,” I said. “Tell me all about this case.”

April had pulled out a compact mirror, and was checking her reflection.

“Bonjour,”
she said to herself in the mirror. “How are you? You look great. Have you lost weight?”

I cleared my throat. “Hello. April. The case?”

April snapped the mirror closed.

“Sorry, Half Moon. I was just taking a moment to boost my self-esteem. I saw that on the mental health channel. The case. Well, I thought it was crazy at first, but there is definitely something strange going on in Lock.”

Suddenly the door light flashed green.

“Enter!” shrilled the principal’s voice through the door.

“I’d better go in,” I said, struggling out of the baby chair.

April caught my sleeve. “Come around to my house. After dinner.”

Another shout from inside. Louder this time.

“I’ll be there,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “About seven.”

“’Kay,” said April. “But don’t spread it around. We’re not, like, on the same level. I don’t want people to think we’re having a rendezvous or anything. You work for me, like a maid or something. A nerdy maid.”

I kept a straight face. Enduring disrespect was a detective’s lot. Still, April was exceptionally obnoxious. I was used to insults from my own age group, but April was only ten, and at least four inches shorter than me. And if you’re four inches shorter than me, then you’re short.

See you then, I thought, and entered the principal’s office smiling grimly. The badge would be mine again, even if I had to suffer April Devereux to get it.

* * *

Mrs. Quinn was moored behind an undersized desk from one of the elementary classrooms. The desk was swamped with report cards and official forms, and somewhere beneath the cables of her knitted cardigan, a phone rang. The principal ignored it.

The two Dobermans, Larry and Adam, stood at the principal’s shoulders. Without their muzzles on, it was clear that they actually
were
grinning.

I remembered why I was there and stopped smiling.

“Well, little Fletcher Moon,” said Mrs. Quinn delightedly. “What a nice surprise.” Then
she
remembered why I was there, and her expression turned hard. The dogs stopped smiling, too. Spittle hung in strings from their jaws.

Principals are able to switch moods in seconds. They would make excellent schizophrenics. “Do you have anything to say for yourself? Any extenuating circumstances, perhaps?”

I shook my head; getting someone else involved would be social suicide. “No. I just forgot where I was walking.”

Mrs. Quinn pointed to a small molded plastic chair in front of her desk. “Every day we lose another one. Sit.”

I sat. Another baby chair. My knees collided with my chin, clicking my teeth together.

Mrs. Quinn pulled a huge book from a drawer. It was covered with patterned velvet wallpaper.

“I’m going to show you something, Fletcher. This is my personal ledger. In this book I keep a record of every single child that ever passed through Saint Jerome’s.”

The book looked about a hundred years old. I half expected dragons to fly out when she opened it. Each page was divided into rows, one per child. After each child’s name was a series of boxes, with a picture drawn in every one.

“This is my own method of recording. It’s easy to review at a glance. I’m afraid you’ll be getting a general rowdiness picture today.” She hauled several yellowed pages across, until she arrived at the current students.

“Here we go. A fine crop of future world leaders.”

I suspected Mrs. Quinn was being sarcastic, but I couldn’t be sure. Maybe she had more faith in us than we had in ourselves.

“Look here. Lovely little May Devereux in fifth grade. Never caused a day’s trouble in her life.”

May was April’s first cousin. Their fathers were brothers and joined at the hip, and so were their daughters whether they liked it or not. They were even connected by the
months of the year
names, which their parents thought were impossibly cute. The school yard grapevine had it that April was embarrassed that May wasn’t quite as
pink
as she should be.

“Look at May’s pictures. An abacus, because she’s such a good little math scholar. A pair of dancing shoes, because she danced in last year’s talent show. And an angel, because that’s what she is. Not many people have pictures like May Devereux.”

I was starting to get the picture. Pardon the pun.

“Oh, I see,” I said, pointing to another row of pictures. “There’s Dermot Carmody. There’s a picture of him sitting by the fire, because he got a summer job in Riley’s Bakery.”

Mrs. Quinn sighed, disappointed. “No, Fletcher. Wake up, boy. Those are the flames of hell. Dermot dropped out of school, so that’s where he’s headed. See the little horns?”

“Aah,” I said, holding on to the chair in case my legs decided to get up and run away.

Mrs. Quinn pointed to another row of tiny pictures. “Here’s Red Sharkey. You see what his first picture is?”

I leaned in to see. In the box was a crude drawing of an agitated stick figure. “General rowdiness,” I guessed.

“Well done, Fletcher. Top of the class. General rowdiness. That’s how it always starts. A harmless bit of playacting. But before you know it, you’re on to the serious stuff, just like Red. Fighting, cutting class, suspension.”

There was a picture for each crime. Suspension was wittily displayed by a lynched stickfigure.

“And now, on to Fletcher Moon. What do we have here? Only good things. Look, a little bee. . . .”

“I won the spelling bee in first grade.”

Mrs. Quinn punched me playfully on the shoulder. I almost fell out of the baby chair.

“Now you’re getting it, Fletcher. Who says you’re thick? And next we have a little magnifying glass. Because?”

Another easy one. “Because I was forced to . . . Because I volunteered to find your keys last year.”

Mrs. Quinn dealt me another jokey blow. I felt my arm go numb. The principal selected a chubby stump crayon from the pack and drew a general rowdiness stick figure in my third box.

“Now, Fletcher,” she said sadly. “You are branded forever. Let’s hope that this is as far as it goes. I wouldn’t like to see you following the same pattern as Red.”

“No, ma’am.”

“We don’t want you ending up with the flames of hell, or in a little
nee-naa
.”

“Police car?”

“Exactly. It’s really quite a scientific system. I can read trends and predict behavior. Sometimes I punish people in advance, because my little boxes tell me what they’re going to do.”

I felt it was time for a speech. “Don’t worry about Fletcher Moon, ma’am. I’ve learned my lesson. No more stick figures for me.”

Mrs. Quinn shut the ledger with a thump. “I hope not. Now off you go. You didn’t see who was next, did you? I do hope it’s a naughty child so I can really enjoy administering the punishment. I couldn’t bear another fallen angel.”

The feeling was returning to my arm. That feeling was pain.

“I was the only one, unless someone arrived while I’ve been in here.”

“Only one way to find out,” said Mrs. Quinn, bright-eyed. She flicked the door light from red to green.

As the door closed behind me, I didn’t know who to be sorry for, Mrs. Quinn or whoever was next in to see her. In the hallway, a kindergartner with tousled hair and a bloody nose was sucking his thumb.

“Enter!” howled the principal at the top of her lungs. Larry and Adam took up the howl until it echoed down the hall.